Liar, Liar
by urbanslang16
Summary: One bad day on the job reflects another. Elliot mulls this over.    Posted with some grammar mistakes...sorry


**Liar, Liar.**

By: urbanslang16

Note: Other than crack (Blue Eyes) this is my first fic. So go easy on me. Just a thought that popped into my head while watching Unstable the other day. Oh and I'm not a fan of oneshots, but this is probably gonna be one. Elliot's POV. Also? FFN is ignoring all the spacing I put in...so...yeah

Summary: One bad day on the job reflects another. Elliot mulls this over.

Spoilers: S8 Burned S11 Unstable. This is pre-Torch s11.

* * *

The smell. Jesus the smell. This wasn't just some drips on your shoe at the gas station, no, this was full on I-paid-25-cents-for-a-swim-locker-before-I-took-a-high-dive-into-my-car's-engine level of stench. Gasoline is pungent like that, especially when a perp throws it all over you and your partner.

Olivia.

My heart clenched at the fear that he would drop that lighter. Hell, she took most of the drenching. It's certainly not too soon for me to forget all the bitching she did about ruining another outfit on the job. A logical person would suggest she stop wearing her favorite clothes to work.

Frankly, I'd rather keep my balls than be logical.

I try to keep her safe, I really do but...I mean seriously, who could have predicted a lid-less bucket of gasoline, huh? It'd be understandable if the guy had been tossing Molotov cocktails our direction; at least that's a level of threat to be anticipated. But I suppose style in choice of fire lighting wasn't really his thing. No, he preferred saving a signature for debasing and degrading women. Prick. Really though, I don't know who I was trying to kid when I pushed her back. Guess a decade of partnership to stubborn as Hell 'Badass' Benson hasn't erased a lifetime of chivalry, so sue me.

And maybe if I think it enough times I can actually convince myself that sheer chivalry guides my need to protect her.

_"Liv, fall back."_

Just...Jesus…just...the Sennet case. It would have been the same. It would have been unimaginable. I knew. I _knew_ how much pain awaited her if that match had hit the ground. I saw that woman, saw the way her flesh vanished, her protection gone. Her life in the balance with her insides on display. All boundaries broken as her own body ate away it itself.

_"Valerie, it's okay." _

_"Don't touch her."_

The fire burned away all chance for comfort. She couldn't see her loved ones, let alone endure the momentary relief accompanied by the sympathetic touch of a stranger. Liar or not, she didn't deserve it. Olivia didn't deserve it. He knew all that came with that flame. He _knew_, and he knew she knew it too. So what does she do?

_"I'm not going anywhere."_

The fuck she wasn't. She was going to the fucking ICU if he had completed his threat. Shit that amount of gas? She was skipping straight to the morgue. I know the whole stand-of only took in reality a few minutes. I'm not trying to say some cliché about how it felt like an eternity or some shit because it didn't. In a sense that's the problem. It all happened too damn fast. One second we're discussing the heinously undercooked pseudo-pizza we picked up for lunch, and the next I'm trying to distract some fucker from mishandling his shitty gas-station butane lighter from setting my partner's honest-to-God form-fitting pants on fire.

Even now, months after the fact, there are moments where I confuse the two. Valerie and Olivia. I'll be mulling over the two cases and a flash will come over me. It's always Liv. Sometimes she's on fire. The flames swirling around her as she...as she screams. Others are worse, or better. Not sure which is worse, watching it happen or witnessing the irreversible damage after the fact. Seeing her black-charred body hooked to a ventilator, staring into her vacant eyes in the morgue.

I should probably talk to Huang.

I would but he'd probably be hesitant to give me a pass once he discovers my newfound phobia for fire. There's something about it. It's not the heat or the color or the whisping feel. It's about the power. I cannot capture it, I cannot stop it, one cannot be protected from it. She cannot be protected from it. I cannot protect her from it.

Forget the whole 'It's your job' and 'Partners are like blood' lines they shove down your throats at the academy. Not that they aren't true but, they're nothing when it comes to what Liv and I got. We're hugs and hoodies and coffee and OJ and blinking lights. We're eye-contact and sleepless nights and bickering matches and flirting by the ice-cream machine. We've got 12 fucking years of mind reading, victim or attacker games,

and babysitting each other when sick. We're no crying in baseball, for better or worse, only relationship with a man, double shitty childhood, scolded by the Captain rough-housers with a penchant for shitty undercover-ops generally used as an excuse to flirt.

_Good morning sunshine. Better Now. Who else would put up with me? No I can't. You wanna drive? And look how great you turned out. You stubborn son of a bitch. I did what I had to do. I would have done the same thing. You meet another woman who makes you feel so alive. I'm your partner. I'm married. I'm always with you. We good? Or i'll haunt you the rest of your days. You're okay. She's my partner. Don't do this to yourself. That's cause you carry it for me. What about me? Stop acting like a cop. I work here. You bothering my partner? Not if I gave you mine first. I couldn't take it. _

I bend, she bends, she breaks, I break. It's all a balance. When one is out the other is in. It's a dynamic built of understanding.

_"We get each other, we're connected." _

Fuckin' hate fire.

Not even gonna dwell on the reasoning behind her actions right now. Everyone knew they were stubborn. One of us could have stood their ground against Foster. That dickhead Kendal was there too, I'd have been glad for him to step up. They both didn't need to be at risk. Yeah, yeah she could turn that right back on him. Say h_e_ could have backed out. So call him a child in a game of martyrdom but he called it first. He beat her to the punch when he pushed her back, in the rules of closer ground, he staked his claim on the choice to die in place of her that day. She had no right or reason to stay.

_"I'm not going anywhere"_

Christ even Foster knew it was a waste _"Aw, how sweet."_

I wanted to deck the bastard.

I'm tired of her self-sacrificing.

We should both retire. We've accomplished so much, but we've done nothing. From all I've seen, I wonder how I've gotten this far without eating my gun.

I should put Huang on speed dial.

I finally get it, why the average tour is two years. I used to not get it, thought I was invincible, thought the rest of them didn't have what it takes. I was naive, I respected them, but deep down I concluded that the lot of them were pussies. Now I think maybe I'm the tainted one. Something must be wrong with me to take so long to breakdown from this trauma.

She came back to me. Again. These are the memories resurfacing. The pain of facing this job alone. Of losing her. But she came back. Twice. A while before Valerie Sennet in fact, but up until then we were still trying to feign normalcy. The flames burned down Valerie's walls. They burned down ours too. We didn't have any when Foster wanted to burn us. Valerie and her lies, a roaring fight, a stoop, hoodies and a late night breakfast in a crappy diner fixed us. Foster threatened to bring us to our knees. And yet I feel like we downplayed this one more than usual. There were no "You okays?" and really no discussions at all beyond a round rock, paper, scissors on who had to clean out the now gas and "pizza" covered Sedan. She won, as usual.

He made a move toward her you know. When Kendal was advancing on him, the three of us pointing our useless glocks at his head, unfirable in vicinity to the gas and flames, Foster advanced on _her_...and I saw her flinch. That was when the images hit me full force. A reminder. You might feel invincible, but she isn't. It's not worth the risk. Kendal distracted him for a moment, but again, Foster turned back and focused on Olivia. He was so dead-set on destroying her that he turned his back. We took him down. I suppose having Kendal around was a note in our favor. We would have lost that evidence, neither one of us would have been able to touch that van while soaked in propellant. It's all so fucked up. We shouldn't have moved on from this so quickly. I guess I haven't really. Normal people feel trauma from traumatic situations, we forsake trauma for retribution and an adrenaline high.

We were _fixed_ damn it. I believed we were. Now I'm wondering if we've just gotten too good at pretending. We pretend we are still best friends. She pretends Sealview didn't break her. I pretend my dad didn't destroy my psyche. She pretends her rejection from adoption didn't sear into her. I pretend I love my wife. Maybe now I can learn to pretend that fire doesn't scare the shit outta me.

All know is I'm tired of it. Tired of the games we play, the denial. Tired of how damaged we are, used, broken, abnormal. I'm sick of having to be violent. All that I ache for is the ability to cry and scream and express emotion about all of the sick shit we face day to day. Broken children and soulless victims and death and perversion. A day at the office. I'm tired of feeling to much. Tired of feeling nothing.

Or maybe I really am being a pansy. Won't dad be proud.

Four am. I should try to sleep. Lying here waxing poetic over flames and friendship and self-sacrifice isn't working in my favor here. Ran out of fucking Ambien last it.

I should talk to Olivia. That resolve she's got lately, Ain't gonna know what she thinks unless I ask her. Maybe tonight after work.

Or maybe tomorrow.


End file.
